


you just might make me believe

by killianslonghaul



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Young Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Young Emma Swan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killianslonghaul/pseuds/killianslonghaul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'I don't even know what love is other than my parents, and maybe... maybe that's not what I want,"'she whispers, the words feeling like a betrayal. She shouldn't say such things, especially to a man who, less than a month ago, was a face without a name, simply a sailor that she was fascinated by and liked to watch when he docked at the shore near her home." Lieutenant Duckling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have already gotten a few chapter into this on Tumblr/Fanfiction, but now that I have an AO3 I figured I could post it here, as well. Regina is mentioned, but for story purposes, I'm pretending that maybe Bae and Rumple are living happily somewhere, with Milah, or whatever, but Rumplestiltskin will not be in the story. Also, not sure if there is certain qualifications for LD, but I think this goes outside of them a little. Finally, I felt like Emma should have a last name but I had no idea what it should be, so it's Nolan.

\------

Running away doesn't actually ever solve anything, but it never stops Emma Nolan from doing it.

It's only five minutes, she always tells herself, but as soon as the air outside of the secluded castle touches her skin, she knows it will be much longer before she comes back. There is always something she's neglecting when she runs, a duty that needs to be fulfilled that she puts off for another day. As time goes on, she finds that she cares less and less.

She's barely nineteen years of age, after all, and her parents can still handle everything themselves. All she wants to do is get away from the stress of learning to rule a kingdom, no matter how fleeting the time may be. So, she grabs one of the few dresses she owns that doesn't scream "I am a royal" to every passerby and slips out the back door (She long ago made friends with a guard who looks the other way), a sigh escaping her as soon as she is no longer trapped within the palace walls. The structure stands much too tall, a cage designed to trick those inside into believing that it is nothing of the sort. There are hallways with enough twists and turns (and twists and turns and twists and turns) to make one think they will never escape.

Emma always finds a way.

She has to.

Deciding where to go once she's out never seems to be an issue. She just lets her feet roam whatever direction they may be taking her for the day, without questioning their path. Some days she'll simply travel around the forest near her home, just far enough away that she doesn't actually see it. Her hands will run over the bark of the trees as she walks, and sometimes she'll settle down with her back to one of the larger ones, resting her head against the wood and just breathing. Other days, she'll go farther -- into the town where she can lose herself in the masses of people or to the shore, where the sea always seems tantalizing, calling to her though she has never touched farther than where the water crashes onto the sand.

Her adventures are never permanent, of course. She always finds her way back to where she knows she should be, with the same irritations and problems waiting for her. It isn't as if she doesn't expect it. Emma is very well aware that nothing is fixed by her taking off whenever she pleases.

Even so, there isn't a single part of her that ever wants to stop.

\------

Emma rolls her eyes as she walks out the door, barely able to hear her mother calling for her. She can just see the queen now, her head in her hands as her husband comforts her. What are they to do with their wayward daughter who does not handle her responsibilities seriously? How are they to reign in her wild streak before it becomes an irreversible problem? Will she ever be ready to rule over an entire kingdom?

Please. It's not as if they are going anywhere and the kingdom has rarely seen issues since Regina, her mother's stepmother and the land's resident sorceress, had been locked up where she could no longer do harm.

The air is calming, as usual, and Emma breathes a sigh of relief as her body relaxes, all worries of her mother and father disappearing with a soft brush of the wind. Her parents are famous throughout the land, their ability to rule seamlessly almost as well known as their incredible story. Finding True Love always comes with hype, as rare as it seems to be. Her parents always tell her that one day, she'll find hers, too.

"And once you find it, it can never be replaced," her father always says, her mother nodding fervently in agreement as she smiles at her husband.

She ignores their looks of despair (Or is it disappointment? Or both?) when she never takes their words earnestly. It's much easier that way, to pretend that she does not see their reactions. It at least helps her to sleep better at night, acting as if she isn't breaking their hearts with her disbelief.

It isn't their love she doubts, of course. The chance of her discovering her own is what she finds difficult to have confidence in.

The sea calls to her today, and she finds herself at the docks, her eyes casually scanning the people bustling about there. A few she recognizes -- locals that she often sees throughout the kingdom. Others are visitors, simply passing through on their way to wherever it is they are going.

Emma aches to know where they go and where they have been. She longs to see the places that the ships sitting in the harbor have touched.

With a practiced stealth that she's gained over the years, she easily avoids those who may recognize her face as she makes her way closer to where the ships are anchored. One stands tall above the rest, the sails wide as if filled with pride, and Emma knows it has seen more wonders than she can ever imagine.

It is not that she is unhappy where she is. At the end of the day, she does love her parents and the land that they call their own. One day, she will take up her role as queen. When the time comes, she'll accept the responsibility given to her and do her best to take care of the kingdom that she was born and raised in. However, she doesn't see that day as being something in the near future.

Part of her hates that she craves to see more, to know more than she's been taught here. There is so much that she does not understand, so many places she has never been, so much that she has never seen.

Sometimes she feels terrible that she thinks this way, and it usually takes a lot of convincing before she can tell herself that her craving for more is not ungratefulness, but even then sometimes she still feels regret nestled deep in her heart.

One day, she swears she'll make it all up to them.

She just wishes for a little adventure, something that will keep her up at night thinking about it. She longs for a feat that makes her heart race and her blood run hot. Her entire being wants to explore and be free, even if that means that her life becomes a little absurd.

Part of her desires that, too.

Most days, it even feels normal. Shouldn't all people go through a time like that in their lives?

Taking a deep inhale of the saltiness in the breeze, Emma smiles, closing her eyes for only the briefest of moments. The air moves around her and blows her long hair around her face, a sigh of content escaping her. Upon reopening, her eyes trail over to where a young girl walks with her mother, not a single care to burden them. When she glances back at the ship that had captured her attention earlier, her eyes catch something else that demands notice.

It's a man, boarding the vessel with a subtle confidence in his shoulders that she just can recognize from where she stands. His dark hair is blowing about in the wind, and even with the distance between them, Emma is captivated by the unmistakable blue of his eyes. She thinks that no amount of distance could hide their beauty.

The uniform he wears is most certainly that of the navy, but not of the land where he is docked. He must be from somewhere else, Emma deducts, tilting her head and watching as he bustles about on board the ship, disappearing below deck every minute or so, making sure everything is prepped and ready to set sail.

She can't help but wonder where it is he's going and where he came from.

Finally, the man puts his hands on the railing of the ship, glancing out at the shore. His eyes find hers, and though warmth creeps up her neck and into her cheeks, she cannot look away from the depth of his expression. Another man approaches him, looking far too much like the first man not to be his brother. Older, Emma guesses as the first blue eyed stranger smiles at the new gentleman, pointing to various parts of the ship as he speaks.

The man's older brother nods and caps his younger sibling on the shoulder, beaming with pride that is well accepted. Emma can't help the smile that pulls up her lips at the picture, and when the two men begin to walk away from the edge of the vessel facing her, the one she'd first noticed takes a glance back at her. The corners of his lips tug up slightly as he looks at her, and her heart jumps, beating erratically until he finally turns his attention back to his brother.

Something pulls in Emma's chest so strongly that it almost is painful, but she sighs as the ship starts to pull away from the harbor. She lets herself watch it go, her stomach twisting as it does, before beginning her trek back home.

She assumes she'll never see the mysterious man who so intensely fascinated her again.

\------

"I'm sorry," Emma whispers into thick air, struggling to take in a breath. She loathes confrontations like this, knowing they never end well. "I don't want to disappoint you. I just... I do not know if I'm ready for... all of this yet."

"Emma, you're nineteen-"

"So?" Emma interrupts her father, and though he seems taken back, he does not stop her now. "That is not very old, father. I do what I must, but I... I am not quite ready to rule over an entire kingdom. You and mother are still doing well and I do not see why I need as much responsibility as you try to give me."

There's a silence that stretches, every second of it feeling like ages passing. Please understand, her mind pleads as she tries to keep her composure. "I suppose I can understand where you are coming from." Snow puts her head in her hand, kneading her temples as her husband speaks. "However, you must understand that one day, this land will be yours to protect and govern. Your mother and I are only attempting to make the transition less drastic."

A piece of Emma's resolve gives way and she sighs, walking over to her parents to press kisses to both of their cheeks. "I appreciate your efforts, but I believe that it should be at least partially my decision the rate at which I take up power in the kingdom. At the moment, I feel as if you are trying to grant more than I can handle. I will take up the throne when the time comes, and I will do everything I must, but I do believe that time is near yet."

Another pause, and then, as if attached to the same strings, her parents nod simultaneously. Emma knows that they are still upset, but for now, their understanding is enough.

Even so, ten minutes later, the road is beneath her feet, leaves scattering across the dirt as a result of autumn weather. A few crunch under her feet and she smiles at the sound, looking up as she inhales deeply. Trees form a roof above her that feels much more free than the confines of the castle's top, which is as tall but not nearly as open.

She finds herself near the docks at the end of her journey, breathing in saltwater tinged air and wishing she had the strength to climb on one of the boats in the distance and run away for good. She knows she cannot do that, however, and so she settles for letting her eyes scan the ships and people, making up stories in her head for each group she sees. In the midst of playing her little game with herself, something catches her eye in one of the bars as she passes by. Her heart jumps into her throat as she recognizes the figure that she's seen many times in dreams, both at night and during the day.

His dark hair is a bit longer now, about two months worth of growing making her wonder how it would feel to run her fingers through the locks. His brother sits beside him, and Emma finds herself leaning against one of the railings outside, watching his movements.

His brother offers him a sip of a brown colored beverage, and with one sip the lieutenant's face pinches up and he coughs. It makes Emma laugh to see that he's not accustomed to the burn of alcohol. She's barely drank herself, only being able to do so at grand dinners where it is served to nearly everyone, so she understands.

Her curiosity almost gets the better of her and she nearly takes a step into the doors, but then she sees a good friend of her father's stand to leave and she runs to the side of the building, staying there until she's sure he has passed.

A few moments later, the man she was watching exits, laughing and walking just a bit sloppily. She assumes his brother must have gotten a little more into him after she walked away. His brother wraps an arm around him and supports some of his weight, looking as though he would rather lose his own life than let his brother fall.

(She thinks he says "Let's go get you some rest, aye brother?")

As they walk away, Emma observes them, her interest peaking when the man smiles, the expression lighting up his features. He's striking, from the dazzling blue of his eyes (Is that even a real color?) to the defined jaw line that leads to a softer chin (She wants to run her thumb over it to see how it would feel beneath her fingertip), just below his lips that practically begged to be kissed. Emma wonders if he has been kissed too much, or just enough, or an inadequate amount. She aches to know what it would be like to kiss him, to be held close by those arms that look so strong (but not too strong, either). Her experience is limited to a few stolen kisses throughout the years, none of them mattering much as she looks back on them. This man is older, and it makes her curious to know if his lips would taste as sweet as they look.

Her heart beats loudly in her chest as he climbs onto his ship, and there's a small part of her that wonders if the organ would chant his name if she knew what it was.

\------

It turns into a game that Emma loves to play, sneaking away on random days and hoping that she'll see her mysterious Lieutenant's ship by the shore. She recognizes it by heart now and knows if it's there as soon as she sees the docks. Some days he's there and she watches him from afar, memorizing how he laughs, how he smiles when his brother compliments him. She learns his brother's name -- Liam -- but his remains unknown to her, no matter how closely she listens for it to be spoken.

There are days when she does not see the vessel anchored there, and she swears her heart drops so low in her stomach that it will never return to its original position. It never stops her from taking in the sea, her love for it only growing every time she visits. Each trip, she lets her eyes scan the horizon and wonder how far away it is until the water once again touches land.

There are days she wishes she could find the nerve to talk to her evasive Lieutenant, wishes she had the braveness that her mother always portrays. She never gets too close, though, even though she wants to do so more than she wants anything. He fascinates her, with his deep expressions and open eyes. She wants to know his story, desires to know all the places he's been and all the wonders he's seen. Her entire being is immensely curious about him even though she has never spoken to him.

Her parents would say she is ridiculous if they knew, she's certain.

One day while she's watching, a little boy bumps into him while walking and the man leans down to eye level with the child, giving him a smile and a gentle warning to be careful before ruffling his hair and continuing on his way. It's endearing, far more so than Emma had expected, even though at the same time, she cannot find it in her to be immensely surprised. She recognizes the softness in this man, and though he's had an argument or two with his brother that she's seen, the lines in his face never grow too harsh.

She cannot quite comprehend how the feat is possible. Perhaps she just has not seen him at his worst.

He is a puzzle that she yearns to solve, and she wonders if knowing all the answers she longs for would quench the interest that she has for him.

Weeks go by, and every time she sees him it makes her blood run just a little faster. It always ends, however. Either he climbs back onto his ship and sails away, or she is forced to return home with the setting of the sun. When night falls and she's once again safely tucked into her extravagant bed, she stares up at the ceiling and thinks of where he may be, how long it will be until he finds himself back near her. She never quite understands how she can miss a man when she does not even know his name, but yet, each time he disappears from her view, he inhabits her thoughts consistently while she wishes and waits for the next time he returns.


	2. Chapter 2

\------

"We will not be here long, Emma. We simply need to meet this merchant and then we will return home. Small steps, remember? You did agree to this."

Emma sighs heavily, tilting her head at her mother, who only smiles pleasantly. Of course she does.

There is, Emma decides, such an occurrence as being too pleasant.

The familiar smell of the sea does little to soothe her nerves, and she hopes that being forced to accompany her parents like this will not make the place less comforting in the future. She would hate if they ruined her favorite getaway place. Almost automatically, her eyes scan the shore as they approach, and her heart nearly jumps through her throat when she sees his ship, sitting magnificently in the harbor. She feels the all too well known pull toward it, her blood rushing through her veins at a rate that certainly is not safe.

Thankfully, her parents don't notice her lapse in step as she fumbles for a moment, and she recovers quickly.

 

Her eyes search for his dark hair and uniform out of habit, scanning the crowd for even a peak of him. He doesn't appear to be in sight, however, and another sigh escapes her as she falls back into pace with her parents.

Just her luck.

"That is quite a ship, isn't it?" her father asks, and Emma looks back at it almost immediately, smiling. Of course he would notice. Who wouldn't?

"It is," she tells him, playing with a button on her dress and trying to remain casual. "Do... do you recognize it?"

Her father appraises the vessel again, pursing his lips for a moment. "Afraid not, dear, other than knowing it docks here often in its travels. I do believe I have seen it a few times, but I don't believe I've dealt with the owners before."

She hadn't gotten her hopes up too high, but Emma still feels herself deflate just the slightest. The man they meet is docked a few ships over from the one that she rarely can take her eyes off of, though she still smiles politely at him as he is introduced and waits patiently for him to talk to her father and mother. She knows she should be listening, but she does nothing of the sort, only looking back to the conversation when she hears parting words.

"It has been a pleasure," she says, sounding much too sweet to her own ears. Her parents smile widely at her, though, and she knows she's done right. It's so easy to please them, she doesn't have to try too hard.

As they walk back along the docks toward the road, Emma sees him at the exact same moment he sees her. Recognition flashes across his features and it makes her heart jump. It's suddenly much too difficult to swallow and she is aware the ability would return if she would look away, but she keeps her eyes locked on his instead. He smiles, a tiny, timid upward turning up his lips as he appraises her just as earnestly.

Emma can feel the warmth in her cheeks and knows she must be blushing, so she finally tears her gaze away from him to catch her breath. When someone sees her father and strikes up a conversation, she glances back over briefly. He's not far away now -- she could be by his side in three or four strides. Even though she has to turn to the exchange with her parents and pretend to be interested, she can still feel the heat of his stare, burning a hole into her head with the intensity of it.

Her heart is pounding so strongly, she's shocked that her mother does not hear it from where she stands just beside her, the beating of it ringing in her ears with every pulse. She tries to focus on what's happening, forcing herself not to look back over at her stranger no matter how much curiosity tries to turn her head.

However, when she hears his voice, she fails.

It's only to hear him call out his brother's name, but she recognizes the sound. He's only a few feet away from her and it's the clearest she's ever heard him speak. His voice is low and somewhat husky, but not enough to make him seem impossibly gruff. It manages to have a lightness to it as well, in a way that she cannot quite explain. The tone he speaks with is modulated, clear and concise in a way that she is certain comes from being a navy officer. He has a lifting accent that she finds addicting, and as he begins a conversation with his brother, she forgets whatever her parents were speaking of and refocuses to listen to him.

"There has been talk of a storm that was brewing when some men in the tavern came in earlier. I am certain it has only grown since. We shall stay in the town tonight and set sail tomorrow morning instead." The brother has a very formal voice as well, though his is firmer and deeper than his brother's.

"Very well," her Lieutenant responds (Did his eyes just flick in her direction?). "I suppose I can busy myself to pass the time until then."

"I am sure you will find something, brother. This area is a rather nice one and there is much to be seen and done." Emma tilts her head. Do they never stay long enough to enjoy themselves? she wonders, feeling a quick rush of sadness for the man, a brief flutter of sympathy. However, it flees when she remembers that he has probably seen much more exotic and fascinating than her small little kingdom, off by itself.

The two men nod at each other before parting ways, but just as her Lieutenant is about to disappear around the corner, he looks back at her and smiles. His eyes sparkle with something resembling mischief (and oh, how that makes her heart skip), and his raised eyebrow just as he turns away makes her head spin.

And somehow she reads his expression as if it were written before her in crisp handwriting, and knows with a shocking clarity that he wants her to return to him. Has he noticed her even half of the times that she's noticed him? Does he know the fascination that she holds?

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and tries to steady herself, already planning exactly how to get herself outside of the castle as soon as they return to it.

\------

"Is that where Snow White and her prince live?"

"I believe so, yes. Their story is quite magnificent. Have you ever heard the entirety of it?"

"Do tell."

It almost makes Emma turn around and go back home. She hates hearing people talk about her parents as if they are legends only told of by the most experienced of travelers. First of all, it always irritates her that something in the tale always gets shifted or misinterpreted or reshaped. Second, they are her parents, and she always finds herself irrationally angry when they are talked of like such grand beings. They're just her parents, not something to be put on display and discussed like a rare wonder that should be put on display for all the realms to see. 

Most of all, however, she hates being reminded just how true their love is. It's wonderful for her that she knows they will never part, of course, but carrying a weight like having parents who are True Love is a burden she doesn't wish to bear. When she lets herself think about it long enough, she knows that her parents being who they are and what they are is what makes her so terrified of love itself. Flirtation is nothing to stress over. Minor feelings rarely pose a threat to anything.

When it comes down to serious emotion, however, she is not sure if she wants to find someone to love so strongly. With parents who have broken curses with nothing but a kiss, only a brief touch of their lips, is there even a point to searching? She is deathly afraid that anything she discovers will not add up to what they have, that even if she falls in love, she will never have the purity and power that her parents possess simply by loving each other as they do.

She has grown up surrounded by it and she knows all too well what a love like theirs looks like and everything that comes along with it. The world and all the stars in every realm have to align perfectly for True Love to be created, and the odds of finding it herself seem impossibly slim.

So, as soon as she hears the people on the path pass her talking of her parents, she stops and sighs. She almost turns around, almost gives up on even the idea of knowing what his name is and everything else about him that she can figure out. Chances are not worth getting hurt over, are they? Is the possibility of him (of being in love or anything resembling it) worth taking such a risk as this one?

One foot has already turned back in the direction of the castle when she sees his face clearly in her mind, his shocking blue eyes and soft features. Her head has nearly yanked her back to the comfort of her home when she hears his voice echo in the confines of her brain, soft and everything that a voice should be. There is a battle for the briefest of moments, though it feels like a lifetime that she stands there on the path, one foot pointed toward home and one pointed toward him.

And then she turns both of her feet in the direction of the shore and walks.

\------

She finds him easily, knowing exactly what she needs to look for. It takes her a moment to pinpoint why the place that he's standing feels achingly familiar, but then she realizes it's the very spot she was at when she saw him the first time. He's waiting for her in the place where she first locked eyes with him.

So he had truly noticed her.

Her nerves jump, tingling with electricity (he will surely be the death of her, this beautiful stranger) that makes it hard to think and breathe. This is not smart. She should not be meeting a random stranger on a whim of emotion.

(It does not matter that he is fetchingly handsome and has a voice that should be considered a crime.)

Leaving before she takes another step would be the best option.

He turns, seeing her, and he tilts his head, the expression endearing even with the smirk that is playing up his features. "Come here often?" he asks, and Emma swears her heart stops.

It takes her a moment as she struggles to act with as much normality as possible. He smiles at her, though, and some of her tension falls away. She grins, taking a step closer. "Actually, I do."

A small laugh escapes him, the sound shaking her to her core just a little. "That is rather interesting, love, because I do, as well. I have noticed you on a few of those occasions."

Unsure of how to respond, Emma waits, trying to think of anything that would ease the tension of strangeness lingering between them. After a moment, he shrugs and closes the distance between them, offering her his hand. "Killian Jones, Navy officer of the kingdom just to the west of here."

Killian.

The name flows through her ear and rattles around in her brain, echoing beautifully and sounding like a key sliding into the lock where it belongs, settling and clicking in all the ways it should before it turns and opens a door.

His name is Killian.

Somehow, she manages to let him take her hand in his and press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "Emma Nolan," she responds, trying not to focus on how warm his lips are and the invisible imprint they leave in her skin.

"As in, the daughter of the king and queen of this land?" His eyebrow quirks, and she wonders how he had not yet noticed that detail.

"Yes," she tells him, laughing just a little. Her nerves are everywhere, jumping and jerking every time he speaks. Or blinks. "But I pray you will not hold that against me."

He finally lets her hand go, and it falls to her side as if it is not sure what it should do anymore now that it is no longer held by him. "I would not dream of it, m'lady."

It is the same response she always gets, no matter who the person or what the circumstance. The only difference between those who fawn her over her anyway and this man, Killian, is that she can see the honesty burning in his eyes and believes him. 

She wonders if he simply has that effect on people.

"Thank you." There's a moment where her chest constricts as she searches her brain for something to say to fill the sudden void in conversation. Though it would appear he's most certainly known of her presence on many of her outings, she feels as if outright giving away the fact would be strange.

As if their current predicament was not already strange enough.

"I am actually surprised you did not recognize me. Most people do." It's the only thing she can think to say and it falls flat, even though he still smiles just a little.

It's enough to at least make her feel a little less incompetent.

"I only deal closely with a few of the merchants near the shore, and if not doing that I'm taking military inventory or handling treaties with other military personnel or the like. Rarely do I find myself crossing paths directly with royals," he explains, his gaze finding the sea as he speaks.

"Oh," is the only sound that gets past her throat before she gets caught up in admiring his profile, from the soft point of his nose to his slim lips to the defined jaw that holds it all together. He catches her eye and she quickly averts her gaze, watching the waves crash onto the shore for a moment before turning back to him. Without being able to help herself, she blurts, "Have you seen many lands and realms?"

He chuckles slightly. Idiotic girl, she chastises mentally. "A few, yes."

Somehow, she can tell he's only being modest. "Tell me of one?"

"How about I tell you a story." There's a glint in his eyes. "And you tell me one."

"Deal," she says quickly, so desperate to hear of his adventures. She smiles, gesturing to the wooden table not too far from them. They sit down and she crosses her hands on the top, raising an eyebrow and waiting.

"There's one land a few day's journey from here, called Arendelle. When I travelled there, the king and queen of the realm had just died while travelling to another land. I wasn't informed of the reason they had been sailing," he begins, leaning forward as if the information is full of conspiracy. Emma's blood runs just a little faster and she finds herself drawn a little across the table as well. "That is not the strangest occurrence, however. Apparently, the doors of the castle there have been closed off to the rest of the kingdom for over ten years. Not a single soul I asked had a legitimate reason as to why there is no traffic to the castle, only that years ago the king and queen had closed every opening to the outside world and gotten rid of nearly all of their staff. The actions were never undone. Every once in a while, the people would see the king and queen when they had business to attend to, and on very rare occasions the youngest daughter would be seen by the luckiest of spectators, but that's all."

Emma tilts her head at him. "That's so strange," she muses, a smile tugging up the corners of her lips, her mind running wild with the possibilities of the stories this man could tell her.

"Your turn," he says, and she rolls her eyes a little before racking her brain to search for a safe tale.

"Okay." She purses her lips for a moment. "Once when I was younger, about fifteen, my parents took me to town with them. It was one of the first times I went with them in order to start learning who people were in the kingdom. Mischievousness has always been wired into me, however, and so the moment they turned their backs to talk with one of the marketers, I ran off. I was far into the woods before they noticed my absence, and I winded up walking around in the forest for a while until I finally went home on my own."

"And what all did you do during that time? Simply walk?" Killian asks, and she swears he should not be this intrigued by her measly tale.

She shrugs, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed for some reason. "Yes, actually. I just... I went and saw how many of the... plants I could identify, and how many birds that I knew and... just walked." She purses her lips and looks down, away from his deep eyes that see much more than any other pair have ever seemed to. "It's absurd, I know, but-"

"No, not at all, love." And he's serious, so unbelievably serious that she's sure he's simply playing a game. "Running away, or wanting to, is fairly normal, from what I understand."

"Did you ever want to run away?" she asks, looking back up at him. His answering smile is dazzling, lighting up the area around them and she can't seem to tear her eyes away from him.

"Of course," he says easily, and there's a twinkle in his eye. She knows he's telling the truth, and the corners of her lips tilt up as well.

"Tell me of your running away story, then," she requests, but she can see just as he can that the sun is setting. The way he's looking at her lets her know that he's aware she has to go.

And she hates it.

"Another time," he tells her, his smile never faltering.

It's silly, and she knows that it is, but she suddenly feels a rush of panic that she won't ever see him again. She wants to, more than anything, so when they get up, she goes to stand in front of him, keeping her face as firm as possible. "Promise?"

His tongue runs along his bottom lip and her veins buzz with the feeling of standing so close to him, like a lightning strike is being pumped through her body with every heartbeat in the place of her blood. A breeze blows some of his hair in his face, but he shakes the strands out of his eyes. Giving her a smile that would turn the most faithful of women away from their commitments (even if just for a moment), takes her hand in his and brings it up to his lips. His kiss is warm despite the cooling evening air, and it makes goosebumps rise on her flesh.

"I swear to you, Princess. The next time I'm in this land, I'm sure our paths will cross, and I will tell you another story in exchange for another one of your own. Does that sound alright to you?" The thrill intensifies, making it difficult for her to force air in and out of her lungs. He's still holding on to her hand, his thumb brushing against her knuckles.

She knows this isn't the smartest of decisions. She can hear her mother's voice so clearly in her head, telling her to always "Be kind, but cautious." Perhaps she would, if his touch didn't make her feel as though her entire body were alight with flames. Maybe she would heed her mother's advice, if his voice didn't sound so beautiful to her ears. She doesn't want to think of never hearing it again.

Besides, isn't this what she's ached so long to have? Something to make her heart beat faster, to give her a sense of adventure past the very little she's experienced in her life? It would be a shame to dream for so long and then not take the one chance she gets for even a sliver of what she's longed for.

"Yes," she whispers, and she's not quite sure why her voice comes out so quiet, so hushed, as if she's afraid the moment will shatter if she makes one wrong move. "I would like that very much."


	3. Chapter 3

\------  
Emma doesn’t see Killian for a few days.

It is not for lack of trying, of course. Day after day, each day that she gets the chance, she finds herself at the shore looking for the silhouette of his ship against the horizon. Her mother is starting to seriously worry about her wayward daughter, but Emma pretends not to hear her mother’s distressed voice when she starts to speak of where she went wrong.

Emma thinks she’s only being dramatic.

At least, she lets herself think that in order to make herself feel a little less guilty.

(But just a little.)  
It’s just over a week later when she finally feels the weight of disappointment lifted off of her shoulders. She sees his ship before she even sees the shore itself, the shape and color of it so burned into her memory that she recognizes it immediately. Her heart starts pounding, rushing blood through her veins at a pace she’s certain is not safe. When she sees him, she smiles so wide it hurts her cheeks. As if sensing her, he turns his head from where he stands on the dock and catches her eye. His eyes widen and a grin splits his features before he starts heading her way.

"Emma," he says as he approaches, and the way he says her name makes a thrill rush through her. "I was hoping you would be here."

"You were?" she stammers out, playing absentmindedly with a button on her dress.

His cheeks flush (she’s sure they match her own) and he purses his lips, taking a deep breath before smiling. “I was.” Everything in her is singing, and she swears that her heart will never function normally again. “However, I do have some business to attend to at the current moment.” Before she can deflate from his words, he reaches out to take her hand in his. “Decide on a place for us to meet in an hour. Anywhere you want, I’ll be there.”

Emma takes only a moment, and then she nods. “If you follow the road to the North of where your ship is docked, you’ll come across a tree with very low hanging branches on your right. The leaves are dark green, the darkest I have ever seen. The trunk is thick and it isn’t very tall. If you’ll look on the opposite side of the road from there, you’ll find a small path. It leads to the river, where there is a bench made of several stones. Meet me there.”

His palm closes tightly around hers for the briefest of moments. “I will, love.”

And then he’s gone, leaving her fingers tingling where his own just were.

———

With nowhere else to be and nothing else to do, she gets to the spot within ten minutes of leaving the shore, sitting down on one of the stones and watching the way the water in the river flows. If she looks closely, she just can see fish swimming underneath the surface. She grabs a small rock and tosses it into the water, focusing on how the waves ripple out from the spot.

Her parents always tell their story, of how when they first met, Snow had hit her father with a stone to escape him after trying to steal a piece of jewelry. In any other story, after he got the ring back, they would have parted ways and never seen each other again. However, like the ripples from a rock falling in a river, one event started another, which led to another, and somehow, they winded up getting married and being the rulers of the Enchanted Forest.

It’s an insane ripple effect, and it’s the one she carries around just over her shoulder.

She hasn’t figured out yet if that’s positive or not.

Regardless, her parents are happy and forever flaunting their True Love, and she thinks sometimes that the phrase should be shouted every time it’s spoken, written out in the largest letters possible. At least, that’s how they act. Meanwhile, she’s fawning over a Lieutenant that she’s talked to all of two times for just the chance to feel a fraction of what her parents seem to have.

She may get tired of hearing about it, but at the same time, she always wonders how it feels to love so deeply and to be loved so much in return. Nearly constantly, she questions whether or not it’s even worth the attempt to find such affection. Is True Love, all large letters and yelled out for the world to hear, a common occurrence? Or is she doomed to forever live in the shadows of her parents, never to find it for herself?

And then, there’s another part of her that, as much as she may love her parents, doesn’t yearn for what they have at all. The love they share is safe, tucked neatly into a large castle with looming gray walls and doors so heavy it’s a feat simply to open them. Their love is collected and calm, floating along the tamest of rivers at a slow, steady pace.

She hates herself for thinking it, but it’s a rather tedious romance, and that is not what her heart desires. The strength of the love they feel for each other is admirable, but perhaps she yearns for love of a different timbre. Though she shares her mother’s nose and heart, the contrasts between them stretch far and wide.

Time passes while she thinks, staring so intently into the water as if it will give her the innumerable wishes that she craves despite her not even knowing what all of them are, all the answers that she seeks even though she may not yet know the questions. When a hand touches her shoulder, she nearly jumps out of her skin.

"Killian." His name falls past her lips in a rush, and she immediately loves the way it sounds.

"I am truly sorry. It was not my intention to frighten you," he says, giving her a small smile.

It takes her much too long to respond, caught up in the way his eyes look reflecting the water in front of him and the way his dark hair looks against the background of an emerald green forest. “No,” she finally manages, giving him a smile that she’s sure is completely without grace. “I was just thinking. It is not your fault.”

"What were you thinking of, Princess?" he asks casually as he takes a seat beside her, and she almost tells him. It feels as if it would be easy to simply spill all her thoughts, insecurities, and fears. She figures that it must be the way he looks at her, so open, as if he would take in every single problem and hold it close like each were his own.

And then never tell a soul.

"Just… daydreaming," she says instead, her stomach loosening a few of the knots it had formed.

He hums in response, tilting his head at her, and somehow she knows he doesn’t believe her. Regardless, he simply nods and puts his gaze on the river for the longest of moments until he looks over at her. “So, story?”

It’s effortless to fall into talking with him. He tells her of an island he’d been to with legend of a horrible monster that could easily wipe out armies. She listens with intent, asking questions every few minutes for clarification or teasing purposes. His story is full of everything she wants to know and everything she craves — action, adventure, a little bit of danger — and he plays it up so well that she finds herself leaning toward him. His words are grand and he speaks in such a way that Emma tucks away in her memory how each syllable sounds as it falls past his lips. She may not know what she wants from him and she may not ever experience what it feels like to love a person as her parents do, but his voice is easy enough to fall in love with. Each word only draws her closer to him, and, as a result, by the time he finishes telling of his very brief and minor brush with the beast where he barely escaped with his life, she’s so close that she could kiss him if she wanted.

And she wants to, more than she’s ever wanted anything. She wonders how his lips would taste, how his hair would feel beneath her fingertips. His eyes bore into hers as she smiles, saying something about how interesting his story is, and it would be so easy to close the space between them.

But she barely knows the man, and she should not be thinking of kissing someone who is somewhere between being a stranger and being an acquaintance. So, despite the strong desire to capture his lips in hers, she leans back enough to give herself air to breathe.

Something flashes in his eyes, bright and burning, and she knows that he was thinking of kissing her just as heavily as she was thinking of kissing him.

And it only makes her want to kiss him more.

———

They take turns throwing stones into the river for a moment, and then he smiles without looking at her. “I do believe it’s your turn, Emma.”

She sighs, already feeling the sting of not knowing what to say. “I’m very afraid, Killian, that if we continue this little game of ours, I will run out of stories before you run out of adventures to tell.”

Silence stretches, and for the longest time the only sound is of water crashing over rocks and the occasional woodland creature. Then, she feels him next to her, much too close for the comfort that she’s so strongly attempted to seclude herself into where he is concerned.

(She’s failing at it, she knows she is, but she has to try, right?)

Slowly, she turns her head toward him and he’s just there, in front of her, staring at her with a curious expression on his face as he reaches over to place his hand over where hers rests.

"Just because you do not see your tales as adventurous does not mean I am not equally as enraptured to hear them," he tells her, his eyes gentle and coaxing.

Emma swallows thickly, lost in the way he’s looking at her, with no hope of ever being found again. Part of her thinks that she has to stop this affair before it goes too far, and another part of her is aware that she may already be too far gone.

"I don’t see how," she tells him honestly with a small shrug of her shoulders.

"I know this may seem difficult for you to believe," he says, and she focuses intently on his words, trying not to think about how warm his hand is and failing to restrain her imagination from wondering what would happen if she turned her hand over. Her breath backs up into her lungs and stays there no matter how strongly she tries to force the organs to resume working. "But I find you quite fascinating. I want to hear your stories, love.”

The warmth from his palm on hers spreads into her arm and through her in a rush, and she can feel heat rising in her cheeks as she looks away. A rabbit scurries from one bush to another on the other side of the river, and she watches the bush for a moment while she tries to catch her breath.

"That can’t be true," she whispers into the air between them. "I am just a princess of nineteen years who has never been outside of her small kingdom’s boundaries and wishes that she could say the opposite. The most interesting thing about me is my parents, because they broke a curse with a kiss, and I don’t want to be cared for or adored just by association with them, but then… that’s the only fascinating fact about me." The words are heavy as they taint the air around them, and she hates that she’s ruining their afternoon with her own discontent.

She sighs as she looks away, knowing that everything she’s said is true but still hoping that maybe he is being honest with her. Her heart beats on a rhythm that she is unfamiliar with as the pause lengthens, and then it stops completely when she feels his finger underneath her chin, guiding her face back toward his own.

"I swear to you," he breathes, his eyes piercing and too much as he brushes his thumb over her jaw. The skin he touches is on fire, she swears, branding her with the weight of his caress.”What I tell you is very much the truth.”

Something catches inside her, lighting and burning so bright that she fears for a moment that she’s going to cave in on herself, a collapsing fortress being reduced to ashes. She smiles, her stomach turning rapidly, and if he weren’t holding her together with his gaze, she fears she’d fall apart completely. This mysterious man, so untroubled and so knowledgeable and so beautiful, is sweeping her off her feet and she’s gets the feeling that, if he asked, she would follow him anywhere without a second thought.

Let her parents version of love and everything that says it’s a bad idea be damned.

———

"You promised to tell me of a time when you ran away, or wanted to," Emma says after closing a story of her childhood best friend trying to talk Emma into "giving away her parent’s magic", and how they learned the hard way that it does not quite work in that manner.

"Ah, I did, didn’t I?" He glances over at her for a moment and then looks away. There’s a pause where he stares off into the forest, and she can see contemplation on his features as he seems to ponder something. After swallowing and taking a shaky breath, he turns back to her and tries to smile. "I used to try to hide from my brother all the time. He hated it, of course, because… he always worried about me. I loved it, however, and so I was always trying to find new hiding places. One time, I saw a horse and carriage pass by us, and when it stopped near us to let the horse get a drink of water, I tried to climb up into it. I knew… I knew that if my brother did not find me, the man might would carry me away. But… our father had left a few years prior and our mother had died recently and I was young, so at the time, I didn’t care the slightest."

Emma lets out a breath that she didn’t realize she was holding as he stops, glancing over at her as if to gauge her reaction to his heartbreaking admission. There are many options as to what she could say, from a sympathetic apology that he had to grow up without a mother and father to a joke about him being mischievous. In the end, she settles on sliding just close enough to push her knee against his gently.

"Was your brother upset?" she asks, and his mood lightens just the slightest.

"He caught me trying to climb up into the carriage, probably because there was a woman in there who started trying to talk to me and gave away my position." Killian’s smile is genuine, and it’s then that Emma truly understands the affection that this man feels for his older brother. It makes absolute sense, to feel so fond of someone who had to become his parent at a young age.

Nothing is said for a while, but this silence doesn’t ring loud in Emma’s ears. It’s easy to just sit with him and watch the world around them, letting it slowly darken until the sun begins to descend completely into the horizon. “I should probably get home,” Emma says, leaning close enough so that their shoulders touch. “And you should probably find your brother and turn in for the night.”

Killian nods slowly and stands, offering his hand to her once he’s up. She takes it without question, and as they walk back in the direction of the docks, she holds on tight instead of letting go.

And when they part, he hesitates as he glances toward the inn where his brother said he would be. Emma swallows, her heartbeat a roar in her ears so loud that she can hardly hear herself think. She sees the turmoil in his eyes, the indecision on what he should do as they say their goodbyes. He takes a step closer, and then simply lifts her knuckles to his lips for a few burning seconds before letting her fingers slip through his own.

She can’t help the disappointment that floods through her (she’s foolish — she knows she is, so desperately wishing that a man she hardly knows will kiss her), but as he walks away, her hand feels much too cold without the warmth of his own against hers.

"I’ll see you soon?" Her voice speaks of its own will, the question lingering in the air. He stops, turning back to her with a smile on his face.

"Aye, Princess. I will see you soon."

———

She doesn’t tell her parents of her newfound interest in Killian Jones, the Navy Lieutenant from a neighboring ally — she doesn’t tell anyone. It’s her own little secret that when her parents catch her attention adrift, it’s him she thinks of. It remains a mystery where her mind goes right before sleep claims her for the night. There’s a newfound passion for him and all that he represents in her life at the current moment, an adventure that she so desperately wishes to experience, a passion she was not aware she could possess.

She doesn’t love him — love at first sight is commonly accepted in some places, but she knows this isn’t the case. However, every time she thinks of him her heart races so fast in her chest that it’s difficult to breathe, so she thinks maybe she could love him.

And maybe he could love her, too.

And maybe it wouldn’t be True Love if they did.

Or maybe it would.

And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t matter either way.


	4. Chapter 4

\------  
"Where were you for so long?" Liam asks as Killian enters their inn room, eyebrows raised from where he sits at the small table. Killian smiles only slightly, carefully fixing his features to something resembling indifference rather than the happiness that wishes to break through.

"Just walking around, really," Killian replies much too easily, glancing around to see that their room for the night is bare minimum — two small beds and very little furniture otherwise. He shrugs it off, knowing very well that they have had worse accommodations.

Thankfully, his brother seems to believe his words (“Alright, we shall head out at dawn tomorrow, so I would recommend you get some sleep.”), and lets Killian get settled in for the night with few other inquiries. In a way, it’s good. In another, it gives him more time and silence than he believes he needs to think of the princess who has thoroughly captured his attention and interests.

Even the crickets are quiet, not concerned at all with distracting him.  
He hasn’t mentioned that he looked for her when he would come to dock at her land, remembering the first day he saw her so clearly in his mind. He had already found her fascinating, but when he slowly began to realize that she was watching him whenever she visited the shore, his intrigue only grew stronger. Why, in any world or realm, would someone so marvelous in every way choose to study him, to ponder his actions and pay attention to him? He isn’t anything special, nothing deserving of her certainly.

When the opportunity to meet her had presented itself, so slim and such that he wasn’t sure it would happen so perfectly again, there was no hesitation. He had to take it, and so he did the best he could to put forth an invitation, hoping that she felt as he did, that she wanted to meet her stranger just as much as he wanted to meet his.

And she had.

It’s all a bloody mess from there, because even so early in their forming a bond, he knows that he is already too far in to step away easily. She’s beautiful, more so than any woman he’s ever seen, with her long blonde locks and her open eyes that seem to stare right through him, challenging what he knows. Her heart is pure, so unbelievably pure, and though that may be in part to the manner in which she was formed, he knows that part of it is simply her. She has a presence about her, much like any princess, but yet he can see her yearn for adventure and for something a bit out of the ordinary.

She already is extraordinary, he thinks, but somehow, she doesn’t realize it.

There’s something about her, so honest and startling and magnificent, and Killian is so terrified that he’ll fall in love with her so deeply that he’ll never be able to climb back out. Any other circumstances would make that a good occurrence, but his heart is heavy when he thinks on it. She is, after all, a product of the strongest magic known in any realm he’s ever visited.

What is he to compete with the daughter of a love so true and pure it can do anything?

Part of him wonders if he should have saved himself the trouble. He had recognized her after the first time he saw her, but pursuing her was not a necessity. Once he had discovered from random townsfolk at the docks that she was a princess born of a couple who were True Loves, he could have simply dropped his interest and kept himself out of her enticing grasp.

It sounds simple enough, but then the other part of him knows that he was a lost cause as soon as he’d seen her that first day, a flash of blonde hair and green eyes that entranced him from first glance. He’d like to say that he could simply detach himself from this woman who has shown him only kindness and purity (and yet, so much more), but the feat would be nearly impossible.

He may already be forever in her clutches.

And if he weren’t so afraid of not being enough for her (True Love’s spawn and a princess?), perhaps he would celebrate the fact.

But alas, that is not the case, and so as he lies in his tiny motel bed and stares at the ceiling where all he sees is her face in the dark planks of wood, he sighs and wonders how in the bloody hell he got himself into such a beautiful, enchanting, complicated mess.

———

He thinks about her more often than he would care to admit, and it slowly begins to get harder and harder to convince his brother that he is simply daydreaming or suffering from lack of sleep.

(If he isn’t sleeping, that, too, is completely her doing.)

"You’ve rarely had these issues before, Killian," Liam says, narrowing his eyes in a suspicious way that forces Killian to focus increasingly more in order to lessen his brother’s wariness.

And even then, the struggle is one that takes more out of him than he expects.

He just can’t stop himself from wondering what he’ll say the next time he sees her (he should let her go now while it’s easy— except even now it wouldn’t be), or where they’ll meet when they escape once again (if he sees her, he needs to end their dalliance before it’s much too late).

(It’s already too late.)

From what he’s already learned, he knows that she is not skeptical of her parents and their True Love and the way they handle being king and queen of a land, but that perhaps she wishes they could simply be her parents instead. He can tell that she is curious to know what else is outside of her kingdom and the hold of her mother and father. He sees that despite being a bit discontent with the life she currently lives, she is still just and noble and everything a princess should be, when the circumstances call for it.

The traits he has been exposed to are admirable, and he wonders if he would feel the same of all the aspects of her personality.

(He has a sneaking suspicion that he would.)

His mind is in a constant battle with his heart, which yearns to know more about her, to dig deeper into the soul of this charming woman. He wants to know all of her dreams, all of her hopes, all of her past. He craves to go further into the heart of her, to see how she thinks and the way she views the world.

He wants to know everything about her even though he is very well aware that he shouldn’t.

A hand waves in front of his face, knocking Killian out of his stupor. “Killian Jones, I do not know where it is your mind keeps going, but it needs to stop while we are on duty.”

"Apologies, brother. Please." Killian gestures for his brother to speak, pushing thoughts of Emma to the back of his mind.

(For now.)

"We will now be headed to the Enchanted Forest again to take inventory of their military supplies and the like," Liam tells him. "As is routine for the allied lands in this realm."

Killian’s chest constricts almost painfully in his chest, and he (with difficulty) keeps his breathing even and his face still as he responds. “I’ll prepare the ship.”

As soon as he turns from his brother, a smile breaks out onto his features, all insecurities and doubts and "I really shouldn’t"s fleeing his mind as he once again finds himself trapped in the treacherous grasp of his beautiful princess before he’s even seen her again.

And gods above, he knows he’ll never escape.

(No matter how much he needs to, he doesn’t ever want to.)

———

The life Killian Jones has led is not as awe inspiring as Emma seems to believe, but strangely enough, it’s what he finds himself thinking of as they set sail toward her land.

After their mother had died, he and Liam had mutually decided that they would join the Navy for their kingdom, and they easily picked up more and more recognition by doing extremely well. Now, they simply did running jobs more often than more dangerous jobs, though they had experienced their fair share of those in order to get to where they were. In a manner of speaking, it kept their minds occupied enough not to miss the life they could hardly remember anymore, with two parents to tend to them and the family eating together every evening.

They’d been on their own for so long now, relying only on each other, that any life they had before their current one is distant, collecting dust in the back corners of their minds.

(But never completely gone.)

Killian thinks it’s fascinating that they found comfort in rogue missions and dangerous journeys, trading a life of ease for one much less quaint. They had, however, taking each rush as something to grasp onto in lieu of having anything else to attach themselves to. There was no home, no mother to welcome them after a hard day’s work, no father to be proud of them. Leaving had been easier, and they felt that putting their focus into something that gained honor was the best option for them.

So, that’s what they’d done.

It hadn’t replaced their runaway father or deceased mother by any means, but it gave them a ship to call their own, a crew of men at their side, and a life where they would never, no matter the circumstance, lose their good form, like their father before them. It was all they had left some days, other than the company of a brother, and they would not have that torn away from them, too.

He had hid it from every soul other than his brother, but when they’d first set sail, Killian had wound up seasick for the first few days. Staying below deck on most occasions had kept his secret, and with time, he had grown accustomed to the rocking of the ship. Eventually, the sea even became a comfort to him, because despite its constant movement and continuous changing, it was one of the most steady and consistent parts of his life.

(Other than Liam, of course.)

The mere thought of ever having to live without his brother shakes him, and no matter what they do he always worries that the one person he has left will be snatched away from him as well. Liam has been his parent for what seems to be ages, and if that man were ever lost, Killian knows he would be, too. He isn’t sure what he would do, but one thing that he is certain of is that he does not want to find out.

"Killian," his brother’s voice calls. "We’re nearing the shore."

A smile tugs up the corners of his lips. “I shall be up in a moment,” he returns, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before sighing and climbing up the ladder to the deck in order to prepare the ship for docking, just as he’s done countless times.

Familiarity like that is something he thinks he’ll never take for granted.

———

Consistency is something that Killian appreciates, because after everything he’s lived through, consistency means a plan. Consistency equates to the well known, and after a life full of unpleasant surprises, habit and routine are welcomed.

Yet, every time he catches sight of Emma’s face, with her beautiful smile and green eyes, tiny nose and dented chin, his heart races in a way he is most certainly not familiar with (but can’t help liking). And as much as that terrifies him, to be in unaccustomed waters, his being craves to see her, talk to her, know her.

He’s in such bloody trouble, but he swears that an upset has never been more rewarding.

As he walks onto the dock, his eyes scan for her and he doesn’t see her right off, which makes his chest deflate just the slightest. Perhaps it’s for the best rings around in his mind, and the possibility that the voice is correct is more likely than it being incorrect, but he still feels disappointment flood through him like the worst of monsoons.

He thinks maybe he shouldn’t be comparing his disappointment to a storm, but instead paint her as the heavy rain and wind, knocking him off of his feet and leaving him little air to breathe with simply her presence. Trying not to think of her, he follows his brother as they go about their business, doing what they had set out to do. Liam seems to be moving swiftly and Killian can’t help but watch the horizon, hoping that the sun may set before they finish.

When it seems as if that won’t happen, Killian makes a quick decision, clearing his throat to ask, “Liam, do you suppose we could stay docked here for the night? We have no immediate concerns to get to tomorrow, correct?”

His brother raises an eyebrow, his lips pursed as he assesses Killian. Eventually, he shrugs. “I am well aware there is something going on with you in these parts, but as long as it does not affect our work, I can look the other way. We’ll leave within an hour of dawn tomorrow, understood?”

"Aye, brother," Killian replies, smiling widely at Liam and helping him finish up the last of their duties rather swiftly.

He hopes that by now, his princess has seen his ship docked, and that maybe she waits for him near the shore. Maybe it isn’t the smartest thing he’s ever done, but maybe (just maybe) that’s alright.

Maybe it isn’t supposed to be.

———

It certainly doesn’t help his case much when her face lights up at the sight of him, her eyes widening and a smile breaking out across her features. She’s his own personal siren, the one monster he thought he had been lucky enough to avoid, only to find one all too set on wrecking his world.

Even if she doesn’t realize it.

He returns her smile, walking over and giving a little bow as he approaches. She casts a glance around them, seeming to scan the crowd for something in particular. After a moment, she nods and asks him if their place by the river will do for today.

Their place.

His heart is pounding too quickly in his chest for him to say anything but a simple yes.

Unlike their first meeting by the river, this time they walk together, side by side, with the warmth of her body enticing him. Once, while they walk, her hand brushes against his, which makes a spark run up his arm and through his body.

"What brings you here today?" she asks once they are seated on their stones, and her voice is casual, the question simply her expressing curiosity for what he does and where he’s been. She smiles at him when he catches her eye, and he has to smile back because perhaps the question is being asked because she genuinely wants to know.

Maybe she really cares.

So he tells her what their job had entailed and she listens intently, asking further inquiries and smiling at him as if she has no other care in the world, as if her entire day is made up entirely of his presence and his words. She asks for another story as a gust of wind blows a piece of her long, blonde hair into her face, and before he’s even processed the movement, he’s reached up to tuck it back behind her ear. Her breath hitches in time with his own, and he’s sure that every being in the entire Enchanted Forest can hear the hammering of his heart.

She swallows and then gives him a shaky smile, and he lowers his hand before he truly does something unwise. He lets his gaze find her lips for only the briefest of moments, giving himself the smallest fantasy of what it would feel like to kiss her, really kiss her. He’s kissed a handful of women in his lifetime, but none have held the captivation of the woman in front of him.

He can’t help wondering if caring this strongly for her would make her kiss even sweeter.

But kissing her isn’t smart.

She’s a princess, a product of True Love, and the fairest maiden he’s ever laid his eyes on.

A simple affair turns into a much worse situation if he lets himself kiss her.

But when she tells him a story of her mother’s best friend, Red, who often watched Emma when she was little, he finds himself leaning toward her and wishing he could listen to her talk forever. He wants to sit beside her as she speaks on and on, telling him all of her stories no matter how uneventful she believes they are. Her eyes shine with something that he knows must be rare, a beautiful mix of kindness, compassion, humor, and all that is good in any soul.

Hers is special, and he can see it so achingly clearly that he’s sure she’s put a spell on him that nothing can undo.

She’s as much of an angel as she is a siren.

He’s in monumentally over his head, struggling to keep himself above the inconsistent waters, but every time he looks at her, he swears he’s closer and closer to drowning.


	5. Chapter 5

\------  
"We trusted you to keep your word, Emma, and you sit here telling us that you are aware of this fact, yet you still managed to miss a very important meeting!" Snow’s face is pinched with anger, her long locks a frazzled mess as she sighs heavily and leans back in her chair to look skyward.

(All it took was a daughter like Emma for her to suddenly become religious, apparently.)

Emma ducks her head, moisture already stinging her eyes as she tries not to feel the heated gazes of her parents, burning through her skin like the hottest of fires.

(She thinks fire would actually be less painful.)  
Counting the tiles on the floor does little to soothe their angered stares, not that she expected it to in the first place, but it’s somewhat of a welcome distraction. She hears her mother sigh again, softer this time, disappointment further laced into it, and her heart sinks so low in her chest that she fears it will fall out completely.

Part of her thinks that may be the best occurrence, if only for the fact that it would ease the ache pulsing through her body. Her parents have told her of how Regina would rip hearts out when she was freed, and Emma can’t help but wonder if it takes away the human spectrum of emotions. She wonders if without her heart, she would not feel this terribly. She can practically feel her failure and their disapproval soaking into the room’s air, and no amount of lying to herself or pretending to be distracted can take it away. Glancing up at them through her lashes, she takes a shaky breath.

(She’s a failure, absolutely the worst daughter in any realm at any time.)

"I am so sorry," she whispers, and she means it (really, really she does), but her mother’s lips purse as her father opens his mouth to only further berate her.

"We continue to be lenient where you are concerned, Emma, and we truly do not mean to inconvenience you by trying to attempt to integrate you into the ruling of this kingdom. Are we wrong to assume that you care about it at all?" His brow is furrowed, his face flushed with his fury.

She had spent just a little too long with Killian in their spot today, missing a meeting with some officials who were wanting to discuss security and military, both of which she would need to know about in detail before she becomes queen.

And she’d forgotten.

And her parents would never forgive her this time.

"I just got distracted while I was walking about in the town today, and I did not keep time very well during my activities." She swallows thickly, staring intently at the wall in front of her. Her answer is immensely cryptic, and she desperately hopes they do not notice, that their anger is at least strong enough to keep from giving herself away. "I did not mean to miss the meeting, and I do care about this kingdom."

"It’s just very difficult for us to believe that, Emma," her mother murmurs, her soft, deep rooted nature returning, though it doesn’t lessen the tension in the room. Her parents share a glance, and her father relaxes just a bit before Snow continues. "We just want you to think of your actions, how they may affect you and those around you. It would also be extremely beneficial if you started taking some of this…" She gestures around her vaguely. "…the kingdom, your up-and-coming reign of it, and all the additions that come with that… more seriously."

Emma nods, any fight she ever had gone now. She doesn’t want to give up the reason for her most recent distractions (that is her secret and her secret alone to keep), but suddenly all she wants is to be once again sitting beside Killian on their rock, letting him pretend to care about her mediocre stories and listening to his own grand ones.

And yet, she knows that her parents are right. One day, she will take their place and she does need to be ready, but are they expecting her to do that so soon? She isn’t ready yet, and as much as she adores The Enchanted Forest and those who inhabit it, she doesn’t want to be ready yet.

Waiting another moment to make sure her parents are, in fact, done with their lecture, she stands and walks to her room, sighing once she closes the door behind her. Sliding down it, she buries her face in her hands and finally lets herself cry all the tears that she hid from her mother and father.

She cries for all that she wants— the adventures and journeys and Killian’s stories (or just him, if she’s being honest— with his grand smile and his soft eyes and his beautiful heart)— so distant and unreachable. She cries because she doesn’t want to disappoint her parents, but she does not quite see things the way they do, either. She cries because it’s hard, so achingly hard to figure out the compromise that is just out of reach and then to accept it after it’s been finally found.

It’s times like this where she hurts, not having a confidant to bear her soul to, to ramble on to when she’s feeling so low.

Except maybe she does.

She squeezes her eyes shut tight as she estimates how much time she’ll need to wait before slipping out, wishing and hoping and praying that she finds him.

(She thinks that if she does, it will be a sign.)

(That only makes her hope harder.)

———

The cape covering her head hides what the darkening sky fails to from the common people, masking her face from those who would recognize it. The air is brisk, night falling quickly, but she doesn’t care. She just wants to see him, even if it’s only for a moment.

She walks by the inn where he’s staying, and stands outside the door for the longest time debating whether she should go in. It is why she’s snuck out, and it would be a shame to come this far only to turn back. She gathers up all the courage, thinking of how much Killian possesses, and walks inside. There aren’t many rooms, and she’s sure not all of them are full. She could just knock until she finds him.

It’s what she plans to do, until a door down the hall opens and he walks out, wearing only his white shirt and pants. He comes to an abrupt halt when he sees her, blinking a few times as if seeing a ghost, and then he slowly makes his way toward her.

"Emma?" he whispers when he’s closer, his eyes darting around and his brow furrowing in confusion. "What are you doing here, love?"

For a moment, she just stares at him, playing the speech her parents had given her over in her mind. She could make something up and he wouldn’t ask questions— it is simply how he is, accustomed to following orders (and, perhaps, smitten with her enough to listen to her requests).

(She hopes.)

But she doesn’t want to lie to him.

"To see you," she murmurs, her chin trembling just slightly as she looks down at the floor, suddenly wondering if she’s made a mistake. "I just… my parents are so mad at me because I messed up today, and I didn’t know… I just wanted…"

"Shhh," he soothes, reaching out for her wrist and gripping it firmly, his thumb finding her pulse and making it hard for her to breathe. His proximity relaxes her in the same instant (she is no longer aware of how her body functions, especially in his presence). His breath is on her forehead, and somehow, it makes her think more clearly. "Give me two minutes to get properly dressed, and we can go for a walk."

Extreme gratitude floods through her body all at once, because he understands, of course he understands. His small smile is sweet and caring, and it’s just what she wanted, exactly what she needed. She wraps her arms around his frame and holds tightly for just a moment (Must she let go soon? She certainly doesn’t wish to), breathing in his scent and wondering if perhaps this is all the sign that she needs.

"Thank you," she tells him softly, and she swears she feels his lips press to her hair, the ghost of a touch near the top of her head, but an instant later he’s turned around and disappeared back into his room, only to return to her a few moments afterward.

Just as he said he would.

———

"Sometimes I am not sure if I will make a proper predecessor to my parents after all," Emma sighs whilst watching her feet, as they are automatically drawn to the sea’s edge together, no questions asked.

"I believe you will, Emma." Killian’s hand is warm in her own, and she briefly wonders if it would cause a scene for someone to see them like this. The idea sends a thrill through her that she pushes down after only entertaining for a second. "You are simply having a difficult time with it all at the current moment. I have the utmost certainty you will be an excellent, ruler— just, kind, and exceedingly beautiful.”

She blushes almost instantly, the heat flooding her cheeks as she avoids his gaze. “My parents are right,” she manages to say between the tightening of her throat. He squeezes her hand and she smiles just a little. “I do need to take it more seriously, I suppose. It’s just so difficult.”

"You’re young," he tells her, and for the first time since she’s met him, she wonders how old he truly is. She tucks away the question for later. "I do not believe it should be easy, at your age."

"You make it easier to deal with," she admits in a whisper, her voice almost lost in the breeze coming off the ocean. His hand tightens in hers, and she stops when he does, glancing up at him and hoping she hasn’t overstepped.

"Never in my life have I been privileged to know someone who I care for as I have come to care for you, Emma. Even in the short time we’ve known each other.” The smallest hint of a smile twitches up the corners of his lips, but it fades after only a moment. He swallows thickly, and her heart clenches in anticipation. “But I would hate to think I’m holding you back from what you need to do. A Navy official stealing away your time from more important subjects is not what I aim to be."

She shakes her head, moisture already gathering at the corners of her eyes. “You are the only thing that makes sense right now, Killian Jones. I will not lose that.”

He breathes in a long inhale, holds it for a moment, and then breathes out just as slowly before meeting her gaze. “As you wish.”

———

It’s so late, and exhaustion would take over her if it weren’t for how enthralled Emma is by Killian’s company, the comfort of his listening ear, the warmth of his hand in her own.

“And what of your parents?” he asks as a breeze blows her hair around her face, the feeling wondrously relaxing.

Sometimes, she envies the wind, able to go wherever it pleases.

She sighs deeply, glancing over at him before deciding that the ocean provides a better buffer for this conversation. “I adore them, truly I do, though sometimes I feel as if… I have to live up to their standards. They have their natural ability to lead, and somehow it skipped me, I do believe.”

He’s silent for a long moment, but his hand tightens in her own. “Well, then I must inform you that you are mistaken in that belief, my love.”

“My love?” she asks, her voice not nearly as timid as she expected it to be (inside, she’s trembling).

His smile is slight, almost shy, but then he squeezes her hand and she feels heat filling her to the brim, burning and aching in the best way. It’s exciting, the lingering moment before he finally speaks. “Perhaps.”

A small laugh escapes her, but then it falters, because suddenly all she can think about is her parents, and everything they have, and if she wants that (her ages old dilemma). Could this be? Does she desire for it to be?

He notices, and his grip lightens as if he’ll pull away completely. “Something wrong?”

She hesitates, but refuses to let go of his hand in the process. Can she tell this man, so kind and otherworldly, the whole truth about her confliction over her parents and what they share? She pulls his hand closer and holds it in both of her own, playing with the singular ring on his finger with a Navy insignia embedded in it. It’s a beautiful distraction, giving her something to look at other than his face, so open and willing to listen to what she has to say.

She isn’t sure if she could handle it.

When she speaks, she does so slowly, each word soft as she speaks her worst fear, the nightmare that always hangs on her product-of-True-Love heels.

"I don’t even know what love is other than my parents, and maybe… maybe that’s not what I want,” she whispers, the words feeling like a betrayal. She shouldn’t say such things, especially to a man who, less than a month ago, was a face without a name, simply a sailor that she was fascinated by and liked to watch when he docked at the shore near her home.

Except now, he is so much more than that, and she is not quite sure when the transition happened.

“Do you feel as if their relationship is to be expected of you in the future?” he questions quietly, not slandering her for being uncertain of something that is usually anything but, not judging her confusion and doubt of True Love, with its large letters and overemphasized reputation.

Once again, she doesn’t speak until she’s sure she’s found the right words. “Maybe. The basis of why they rule so well is on their ability to… make decisions together, to be a strong united front no matter what the occasion. Can I run a kingdom as well as they can… if I don’t have this love that seems to bring with it so much strength and power?”

Her heart clenches in her chest so tightly that it hurts, and the fact that the silence between them stretches only makes it worse.

“Just because they need it, doesn’t mean you do,” he says slowly, and she can tell he is carefully choosing his words as well. Yet, his eyes are downcast to contrast his voice, hope brimming dangerously in his eyes. “And you will not know if True Love is something you want unless you find it and see, correct?”

Their eyes meet, and time suddenly freezes as she looks at him. His eyes are dark with emotion, and she wonders again if this is what True Love could feel like. If it is, perhaps her ideals about it have been incorrect, because this feeling stirring in her chest is certainly not unpleasant. It makes her feel alive and adventurous and everything that she’s longed for in her life.

It makes her feel strong.

Is a curse breaking kiss the only way to be sure of True Love?

If so, how do others who have not had the occurrence know in their souls that what they have found is true? Do they simply hope that it is?

What happens to those who believe so deeply that their love is strong enough for anything, but then are faced with a curse that they cannot break? Do they toss that love to the side in order to continue searching for something more legitimate?

Her questions must show on her face, because Killian moves just a little closer, his shoulder brushing against her own gently. “Are you alright?”

She pushes away all of her uncertainty, for now, opting to take off his ring and place it on her thumb. It fits, and as she tilts it to admire the details of it, she catches his smile out of the corner of her eye. His own thumb is tracing circles into her other wrist, and she tries not to think of it in order to maintain a bit of her sanity. He’s watching her curiously, his eyes a bit lighter now.

“Keep it,” he tells her suddenly, and her mouth immediately falls open in shock.

“Killian, I couldn’t.” Her heart hammers in her chest, too quick for an instant before resuming.

He shakes his head, picking up that hand with his other and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You should have it, for when I am not here with you. It will be your reminder that I am surely thinking of you whenever you look at it.”

“I doubt you think of me that often,” she counters, but the way he is gazing at her disproves her statement before it’s even fully left her lips.

“On the contrary,” he murmurs, his smile softening. “I think of you more than you realize, love.”

She doesn’t know what to say, her heart still beating away frantically, minutely afraid of his words and terrified of where they could lead. Could he be to her what others search so long and hard to obtain? If so, will having a True Love make her more like her parents than she wishes to be?

The unknown is suddenly frightening, variables that she doesn’t control making her wonder and question her path.

Is it worth the chance that the love they are forming is True?

(Her heart says that it must be.)

After thinking for a moment, she slips the ring off of her finger and then removes her longest necklace, placing the ring on the chain and then accepting his help at putting it back on. The ring just does fall beneath the hem of her dress, just beside her heart.

She knows that is where it must stay when she looks up at him, his smile as secret as their romance. He seems so serious, and he’s so close that she could…

When he kisses her, her heart stutters once—twice, but then it keeps beating—the rhythm changing just enough to make her wonder if it’s significant. The hand he puts on her cheek anchors her to him, but from the second his lips touched hers, she had no intentions of going anywhere. Here with him, sitting by the shore that she’s stared at more times than she can recall, it feels as if there is no one else. There are no parents to compare herself to, to feel inferior to in every aspect. She is not a princess who must focus on ruling a land—she is simply Emma, a woman who may, or may not, be starting to believe in the possibility of a True Love to call her own.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take so long with updates and I am aware that I suck.

He dreams of her nearly every night.

The visions that play over in his mind as he sleeps become even clearer as more time passes— vivid, bright green eyes that stare into his soul and beautiful blonde hair that gets carried by the breeze and the firm feeling of fingers laced between his own. Sometimes, she hums something he isn’t familiar with as they walk along a path or beside the ocean, her voice angelic in every way, lulling him deeper into sleep only for another dream to begin. As one who’s rarely remembered details of his dreams (shapes and murmured phrases he can’t understand, rarely any faces at all), he finds it curious how his mind suddenly wants to remember every detail—vision and sound and touch alike.  

There are times where he sits straight up in the middle of the night, grasping for her hand even though it is not there. Yet, as he buries his face into his knees and tries to regain his bearings, he can still feel her palm against his as if she had only just let go. He can still sense her as if she was sitting right beside him.   

He’s bloody _ruined_. 

Sleep finds him again, and he welcomes it usually, only to see her face again. When there are weeks that go by without him seeing her, he thrives on the images that his mind conjures up. In a way, they are what get him through those long days and nights. In another, they only make him crave her more.

The world always pulls him back, back to the rocking of his ship and the duties he is responsible for. Sometimes, he wakes to his brother’s knit eyebrows. Killian wonders if he’s whispered her name into the quiet, if somehow he’s given away his predicament to the brother that he used to tell everything without a second of hesitation.

Somehow, this is different. This is his own secret, a thrill that he will keep to himself until the moment is right. She’s _his_ princess, and there’s a selfish part of him that simply doesn’t wish to share.

He refuses to think of the beauty and simplicity of their agreement fading away before it has a reason to be spoken aloud. It’s much too precious, the only mess he’s ever found himself in that makes him think inconsistency can be positive. The rush he feels around her is unreal, his veins pulsing with a fire he is so unfamiliar with.

Unfamiliar has never been so desirable.

(And yet, there is a nagging in the back of his mind that knows they will not be a forever affair. They have their fun, but they are ultimately incompatible, he thinks. She is a princess, with responsibilities, and he is simply a welcome distraction for the time being. He is a seaman who values what he can predict, and she is the opposite. He knows that eventually, he will stop holding her back from what she needs to do, that he will kiss her one last time and walk away to let her live the life she is meant to live.)

(For now, he pushes all of those thoughts away.)

(So, _so_ bloody ruined.)

One night, a dream shakes him to his core. His beautiful princess is leading him through the forest, turning sharp corners and running across streams without finding a bridge to cross them with. There is no path, only the sound of her laughter and the faintest sliver of light to guide him. He follows her, diligently—wanting never to lose sight of her, only to turn a corner and have her disappeared from view. The darkness is suddenly looming in her absence, pressing in much too close, and he calls out her name a few times, hoping that she isn’t gone forever.

She can’t be.

“ _Emma_.”

“Killian, wake up.”

He starts at the voice, sitting straight up in his cot. His eyes look for her automatically, scanning the dull room and knowing immediately that she is not there. Her radiance is not present. Her warmth is nowhere to be found.

A sigh falls past his lips.

His brother is standing over him, brows pinched and eyes narrowed with an emotion that Killian doesn’t recognize. He rubs quickly at his eyes and he becomes fully aware of his surroundings, those last edges of sleep (and the vision of her running in front of him) falling away.

(They are tucked away safely in the back of his mind, as is her smile and laughter and everything else so wonderful about her. The rest he pushes far, far away, not wanting to remember that desperation he had felt when she vanished.)

Liam looks as if he’ll say something for a moment. His mouth opens slightly. Killian braces himself, knowing that this time, he must have called her name aloud, needing this dream version of her to return to him with such despair. Liam knows who Emma is. He will never approve of the romance. There will be disapproving words, and every time Liam must come back to this land, he will leave Killian behind, never to see his beautiful beloved again.

(Even the thought causes a pain to seize his chest.)

In the end, Liam simply tells him they are closing in on The Enchanted Forest, his expression still strange. Killian only nods, hoping that perhaps, knowledge has eluded his brother for the time being.

And then Liam is gone.

\------

He sees her as they near the shore.

She’s wearing a beautiful faint blue gown, and he eyes the necklace around her neck that he knows holds his ring. She is walking around with her parents with her chin held high. Her eyes do not waver over to him or the ship as they dock, and he can feel the disappointment beginning to lodge in his throat. He thinks that perhaps she hasn’t even seen his ship when she glances over for the briefest moment and bloody _winks_ at him.

A damn siren, is what she is.

(And he’s desperate for her to pull him under with her and drown him.)

As they dock, she and her parents walk up to them. Her smile is proper, but there’s a slight smirk teasing the corners of her lips as they approach.

“Captain Jones, nice to see you.” Her father shakes his brother’s hand, and he wishes he could spend more than two seconds paying attention to the interaction, but his eyes are stuck on her.

“Jones?” Emma asks, her brows knit as if she’s never heard the name before in her life. He tilts his head at her and tries not to let his smile grow too wide while her father explains who they both are: Liam and Killian Jones from one kingdom over, Navy, very respected.

“Killian, Liam, it _is_ a pleasure,” she says, taking Liam’s hand for a moment and then she reaches for his. Electricity sparks where their palms meet and travels up his arm. He smiles a little wider than he intends to, thankful when it goes unnoticed. When she lets his hand go, he feels the loss immediately.

“What brings you to our parts today?” she asks, her voice lifted and for a moment she sounds so royal, so comfortable in her role of a princess. The ability to command the position is effortless, the prestige running through her blood shows greatly.

He cannot help the sense of pride that rushes through him, and he hopes it shows in his answering grin. Her eyes sparkle for a moment, and she looks overly pleased with herself as Liam answers her question. She takes a half step closer to him. His heart beats just a bit quicker. It’s suddenly much warmer in their little circle of conversation.

“I see,” Emma responds, though he thinks she has not heard a single word Liam has said. He knows he has not. Regardless, she smiles, nodding politely at his brother. “I do hope you enjoy your stay while you are with us. It was very nice to meet both of you.”

They go to part, to head a separate way, and then suddenly there is a piece of paper tucked tightly into his hand. It’s folded over many times, but he knows it was her who placed it there. She manages to give him a quick smile over her shoulder, eyes sparkling and smile mischievous.

He wishes to read it instantly, but he slides it into his pocket as he and Liam head down the street to attend to business.

It’s nearly an hour later when he has a moment alone to open the letter. It’s simple, scribbled on quickly on the back of a wanted poster for some traitorous thief that she probably grabbed off of a tree when she saw his ship on the horizon.

(He can only imagine her sneaking the page, finding something to write on it with, all while walking with her parents and fulfilling her duties alongside them.)

(He grins at the thought of the image.)

“ _Shoreline. One mile north of the docks. Just after dusk. Love, E._ ”

His heart squeezes.

 _Love_.

He smiles at the rumpled piece of paper, folds it back up as neatly as possible, and tucks it back into his pocket before returning to his brother, already looking forward to their tasks being completed.

\------

“I quite enjoyed your little letter,” he tells her when they meet. He comes up behind her, and she turns to greet him. It seems like it’s been much longer than a few short hours since he last saw her smile, but the second she flashes it at him, it feels as if no time has passed at all. “How did you become so sly?”

Their fingers brush as he moves to stand beside her, and her smile turns nearly conniving. “After many years of sneaking out of a guarded castle in order to escape my parents and responsibilities, the skills have simply come to me. I’ve nearly perfected them.”

“Nearly?” He raises a brow at her, and he can see her own quirk up at his question.

“One can always improve in such areas, I believe,” she explains with a smile.

He hums, his hand finally capturing hers. A sigh escapes her lips as if a dam has finally been broken by their touch, and she leans into him. “You should have seen me earlier today when I realized we were going to run into each other at the docks. I’m surprised my parents didn’t notice I was having a difficult time simply putting one foot in front of the other.”

“Does my presence affect you that strongly?” he asks her, hoping that his palm doesn’t start sweating in hers.

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and he would look over at her if he weren’t so terrified of what he may find in her expression. “If you had even a hint of an idea of the effect you have on me, Killian Jones, you would sail away on your ship and find immeasurable reasons to never return.”

“I doubt that how you feel is much different than how I do,” he whispers without pause, his voice low as if someone could overhear, as if it is a secret that should never be revealed to even the nearby insects. He turns to face her, then, taking her other hand in his as well. She’s looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak words of affection or spill words that poets would be envious of, but he cannot find a single syllable. The sentences he wishes to speak get as lost as he is in her green depths, sparkling with something he doesn’t recognize in the light from the moon overhead.

So he presses his lips to hers softly, willing his heart to stay in his chest as she kisses him in return. She’s so close, so _dangerously_ close, and he wishes nothing more than to convince her to run away with him, her entire kingdom be damned. All he wants is to kiss her forever, to hold her body next to his and know that it’s what she wishes as well.

He’s about to do something foolish, beg her to never leave his side and be with him forever, when he hears his name echoing off the ocean.

“Killian? Are you out here?”

They break apart, both inhaling the oxygen they need in quick breaths. She’s clinging to his jacket tightly, and he presses his forehead against hers, sighing. His idiotic thoughts have fled for the time being, his entire self forced back into the reality from which he cannot seem to ever escape for long. “That’s my brother,” he breathes, and she nods in understanding.

He should just push her away, tell her as he should have done weeks ago that this affair cannot continue, that he is only going to ruin her and everything she has set up for herself here, that she terrifies him and it is best if they end this now. As with every time before, however, he can’t seem to let her go like he knows he should.

Instead, he kisses her once more, murmurs “Until next time, my love,” and then lets her slip from his arms so he can head towards his brother.

She is a weakness that he cannot overcome, a craving that he fears will never go away no matter how diligently he attempts.

Liam looks as if there is something he wants to say, but Killian only nods at him as he passes and heads toward the ship. Once he is a safe distance away, far enough that Liam won’t see his actions in the darkness, he lets his fingertips brush against his lips.

He can still taste her.

(He’s a damned lovestruck fool.

If only he could find it in himself to care.)

\------

“Killian, have you met a girl in the Enchanted Forest?”

(He should have known his bliss would not last.)

His brother’s directness the next day nearly makes him choke on his meal. He recovers, glancing over at his older sibling who is waiting with raised brows.

“What makes you ask?” he questions, though he already knows he’s lost this battle. He can see it in Liam’s eyes that the question is only a formality.

“You disappear for random increments of time when we visit there, and your mood has been different lately, especially when we visit those parts. You’re happier,” Liam responds, and Killian can see the impatience in his eyes.

Killian pauses, knowing he was out of his mind to think he could keep something like this from his brother. They are all each other have had for so many years—secrets do not get kept for long. “Perhaps,” he says, deciding that his simple answer is a safe one.

Liam nods once. “And I take it, unless you have coincidentally found a maiden with the same name as The Enchanted Forest royal highness, that she is the object of your affections.”

It isn’t a question. Killian ducks his head. “Perhaps.”

There’s a long moment where nothing is said. Killian can practically hear the machinery of Liam’s brain working overtime, and he knows that he is conjuring up some speech about how inappropriate the relationship is and how it should have never started and a hundred other points that Killian knows he’s already thought through himself.

(The only difference is Killian is powerless to do anything about it, smitten as he is.)

(He only hopes he can explain that to Liam.)

Finally, when Killian thinks that something should be said or else the room will cave in around them, as much tension has built, Liam speaks.

“Do you love her?”

The question takes him by surprise, but what surprises him even more is how he has to bite his tongue to keep from answering too quickly in the affirmative.

Does he? Truly?

It feels like love, though he has no historical comparison that gives him any reason to believe otherwise. How, in the grand scheme of everything, does one know for sure? In the end, Emma terrifies him. She makes his heart race and his stomach clench and his brain scatter.

It is unlike anything he has ever felt.

He sighs, feeling defeated, because _yes_ , he loves her.

And he knows it will never work.

“Perhaps.” His tone sounds as sad as he suddenly feels.

Liam doesn’t say anything after that, and Killian can see the perception behind his eyes. His brother knows that “perhaps” is simply a frustrated “yes”.

Later that night, the entire predicament keeps him awake.

Somehow, the conversation with his brother has made it all too real. When it was his secret and his secret alone, it was easy to pretend that everything would be alright, that their love would continue to run its course and none would be hurt in the process. It was simple enough to push away thoughts of goodbyes and last kisses as long as no one else knew of their fondness toward each other.

And now, any hopes of his denial continuing are destroyed, tossed into the sea and lost in the ominous waves forever.

He hates that now, he can’t stop thinking about where this is all heading. She is monumentally impulsive—she runs away from home when she gets the chance and starts romances with sailors that she fancies and wants to go on grand adventures. It terrifies him to love her like he does, because she wants insanity and spontaneity.

In contrast, he is accustomed to the constant and the planned. It is what has gotten him through his life and never let him down, never taken him off his desired path.

Consistency was all he had, other than his brother. His steady, predictable brother.

So why does her spark and life draw him in?

Why does he wish that he could be more impetuous, more open to the madness that is taking over him? Why does he want so desperately to feel the same things that she feels, the uninhibited passion and the wild freedom? Why does he hope that she’ll continue to find him fascinating enough to keep their affair going, even though he knows they are likely doomed? After all, royals marry other royals or loyal guards, at the very least. They don’t spend their lives with the likes of him-- a simple Navy officer, not even a captain.

He desperately wishes that was not the case.

He ponders everything later that night, staring out into the open sea instead of back at the land on the opposite side of him. The ocean has always been his comfort, but even it does not offer solace to his troubled heart. Liam is already asleep, but Killian is restless, unable to find unconsciousness no matter how hard he tries.

“Bloody hell, Emma,” he whispers into the night air, squeezing his eyes shut. “What have you done to me?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY. LIFE IS BUSY AND MY MUSE HATES ME SOMETIMES.

“You did very well today, Emma.”

Emma smiles politely at her mother in the mirror, watching as Snow finishes brushing out her hair from where it has been up all day. “Thank you,” is all she says, focusing on trying not to let her shoulders slump.

She’s exhausted. Between keeping a secret romance and trying to please her parents, she’s finding herself tired often, sleeping well past dawn on most mornings. Prior to tonight, Killian’s ship had not been docked at their port for a while, however, and she’d had time to shift her main focus to appeasing her parents—going with them into town, meeting with an infinite number of people, learning history and rules, exceptions to rules, everything that she could fit into her brain at one time.

She’d thought of Killian constantly regardless, and as soon as she had noticed his ship earlier today, her heart had raced with anticipation. She had put on a good smile, done what she was supposed to do and, when she was finished, told her parents that she wanted to walk around town a bit. Her excuses were perfectly executed—she wanted to talk to some of the locals and get to know more about them, to even further her abilities to be a good queen one day, and she wanted to do so on her own to show how well she could do without them. Beaming, her parents agreed, and she was in his arms only minutes after bidding them goodbye.

Now, her mother is smiling widely, blissfully unaware of her secret, and Emma returns the smile as their eyes meet in the mirror.

Even with all of her want for adventure and excitement, the approval she feels radiating from her mother makes her heart feel warm. The emotion is comfortable and she revels in the way it floods through her, but it is the complete opposite of the rush of Killian’s touch still beating through her veins. She ducks her head slightly and looks at her lap as she relives the feeling of his lips against hers, his hand tangled in her hair as he kisses her breathless. His kisses are electric, and even though she does not have too many others to compare it to, she’s sure it would not matter if she had millions.

His would stand out. His would be the best.

The brush finally moves from root to tip of her hair without snagging, and Snow sets it down on her vanity. “There. Beautiful.”

Emma shakes herself out of her thoughts, refocusing on her mother. Snow is so proud, so happy to see her daughter doing what she’s meant to do, and Emma never wants her mother to look at her in any other way. She hesitates, turning in her chair to look up at Snow, and she feels as if she is a small child again, about to apologize for trying on her mother’s lip stain.

“I wanted to apologize for how distracted I have been lately. I want to convince you that my intentions when it comes to our kingdom are as true as I say they are.” Emma tangles her fingers together in her lap and looks down at them, trying to keep the moisture in her eyes under control. The truth of her words cannot be missed.

A finger tilts her chin up, and Snow tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Sometimes, in the midst of all that we deal with, I forget how young you still are. Perhaps sometimes we are too hard on you, but we only want you to be the best you can be.”

“I know,” Emma says, reaching up to hold her mother’s hand where it rests at her neck. “I understand your concerns.”

“But we are very proud of you, and we know that at the end of the day, you are doing the best you can, and we are confident in your abilities to be an amazing queen one day,” Snow tells her, smiling softly.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice cracking, as Snow presses a kiss to her head.

That should be it for the night. This would be where her mother should bid her goodnight and retire to her room, but as she starts to leave, her heart stirs and she’s spoken before she’s even registered doing so. “Mother?”

Attentive as ever, Snow returns to her side. “What is it, dear?”

“How…” And now she’s nervous to speak the words nagging at her mind, her throat suddenly uncomfortably tight. She should have refrained from saying anything.

Except her heart _really_ wants to know.

She _needs_ to know.

“How did you know that father was… your True Love?”

And there it is. The question she’s been terrified of asking even to herself, as treacherous as it is. Part of her hates that True Love has become something she is so absorbed with, something that is making her heart race and her palms sweat as she waits for her mother to respond. She’s ruined everything she used to stand so firmly on because of him, and she cannot even find it in herself to be angry or upset with him or herself. All she can feel at the moment is nervous.

Snow’s brow furrows slightly, and Emma internally panics—has her question given her away?

She swears time is standing still.

 “Well, him waking me up from a curse with his kiss was a fairly good indicator,” she says, searching Emma’s features closely.

Emma does her best to seem only mildly interested, as if her inquiry is merely a curiosity of her parents’ beginnings. She picks up a section of her hair, picking apart the separate strands. Her hands are shaking, and she tries to will them to stop.

“And… you didn’t… know before?”

Her mother must sense her genuine interest, because she sits down on Emma’s bed, hands tucked into her lap. A faraway smile pulls up the corners of her mouth as she answers. She’s looking just past Emma, lost in the past for the moment.

“I think part of me knew before.” Her smile deepens, her entire face brightening. “It was little things, like the way my heartbeat got faster every time I was with him, how easy it was to joke back and forth with him even though we had just met. It was certainly not love at first sight, but… somewhere between me trying to steal from him and him waking me up, something… clicked. I know… you laugh at these sorts of things, but… I truly believe it was a matter of fate’s design.”

“Oh,” is all Emma says as she processes, her thoughts mulling over how she feels around Killian. She can feel the weight of his ring against the skin of her chest, his promise that he’s always thinking of her. To remind her to think of him.

(As if she needs a reminder.)

“Is there… any reason that you’re asking?” Now, her mother’s brows are raised, a sparkle in them that frightens Emma just a little as she refocuses on the conversation.

She shrugs, relaxing her face as she turns back to her mirror, running her fingers through her hair slowly. “I just realized that I had never really asked much about your story, and it is why I am here, so, I was merely curious.”

(Internally, she pats herself on the shoulder for not allowing her voice to tremble.)

Snow seems to accept her answer, though curiosity remains in her expression. Still, she stands and touches Emma’s shoulder gently. “Alright. Well, you can always ask me anything, and I will answer. I hope you know that.”

Emma nods. “I do. Goodnight.”

Once she is alone in her room, she runs one more hand through her smoothed out blonde locks while the other pulls Killian’s ring out from underneath her dress. She slips one finger into it and holds tight, closing her eyes and thinking of him, of how easy it is to talk to him, how his kiss makes her feel like she could do anything, how merely his presence can lift her spirits effortlessly.

“I miss you already, darling,” she murmurs into the silent air. She knows he must be long into the sea by now, as he set out only moments after she kissed him goodbye. She’d watched him sail away, wondering if he could feel the ache in his chest like she could. Does he miss her the way she misses him?

There are more words that she thinks she could say, to express more than just the emptiness that his absence leaves her with, but even in the quiet of her room, she does not know if she is ready to hear the words out loud. She replays her mother’s words in her head, thinking of her parents—the way they look at each other, their gentle touches and supportive words, the way they automatically move toward each other in a room without even seeming to realize it, the way their smiles light up their faces when they whisper “I love you”.

Her chin trembles, and though she holds tighter to his ring, she admits that she is not quite ready yet. So, she leaves the words unsaid, even to herself, but she falls asleep with his ring gripped firmly in her hand, dreaming of a life where they can run away together, completely free—not held back by anything as trivial as duty or responsibility.

\------

For a while, Emma gets lost in all the things that she needs to do in order to do them well. She smiles at all the people her parents introduce her to, shakes their hands politely, and listens as her mother and father fulfill their responsibilities with her dutifully at their side. She pays attention to their lectures and does her best to understand the way that justice can be served for various crimes, asking questions if she doesn’t understand.

One day, during a conversation with the royal guard at a diner in town about how many men should be posted as her twentieth birthday celebration approaches in a few months, her parents turn to her and ask for her opinion. She had noticed Killian’s ship out the window, and had been distracted, but she does manage to not make it seem that way.

She takes a moment and then gives her response, giving an answer that she does think but that she also knows will make her parents happy.

They’re satisfied, as she suspected they would be, and she smiles to herself at how well she’s doing.

Her eyes drift back over to out the window, and her heart drops as she sees the vessel that she has come to recognize so easily beginning to head away from the shore. Her throat gets tight all of a sudden, and sadness washes over her.

She didn’t get to see him while he was here this time, and the pain in her chest is nearly unbearable. It’s already been such a long time, and she has no idea when their next time will be. Her throat is tight all of a sudden, her eyes stinging as the shape gets farther and farther away. She wonders if he looked for her, if he tried to find her or if their business had been short on this trip.

Details do not matter. Her heart still aches. Her throat still tightens and her chin still trembles slightly. Thankfully, her parents are distracted in their discussion, and they do not notice the single tear that slips down her cheek before she wipes it away.

She wouldn’t have given it much thought, except she’s meeting with a few of the dwarves to discuss mining season on a walk a few weeks later when, once again, she reaches the shore and sees his ship heading away from her. Dread builds deep in her gut, and Grumpy has to repeat his question two more times before she finally can turn her attention to him.

She is _not_ her parents. She does _not_ believe in signs, or fate.

Except, she had started to. He had made her begin believing that maybe these things do exist, only to those who wind up lucky enough to be blessed by it.

She had started to think that maybe she was that fortunate.

Is this a warning? A precursor of what is to come as she even further prepares herself to take the throne of her kingdom? Will duty pull her away from him?

Is it only right that it should?

If she lets herself think about it, she knows that their odds were not favorable to begin with. Even if he does happen to feel as strongly as she, what would it mean? What would she do? How would they go forward? How would her parents react if she came out to them about it?

Her heart does not want to know the answers. Her mind, however, cannot deny that it is bad luck, at the very least.

(And she hates it.)

Her doubts nag at her, eating away at her heart until she’s sure there could be none of it left. Yet, when she does happen to catch him one night, sitting on the sand and staring out into the sea, it all seems to melt away.

She tucks herself into his side immediately, reveling in the feeling of his arms wrapping around her, his lips pressing to her hair.

“I missed you, love,” he says in a hush, his voice barely heard over the sound of waves crashing.

She buries herself even further into him, her heart beating wildly in a way that she had almost forgotten. “I missed you more,” she breathes, afraid to speak too loudly in their quiet space that they have created.

He goes to protest, but she kisses him, silencing his words long enough for him to not argue with her. “Not fair,” he mumbles against her lips, but his smile matches her own as he kisses her again.

“Too bad,” she teases, all of her fears evaporated completely as he stares at her. His expression becomes more serious, and he lifts a hand to her face, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. 

“I would delay my brother as much as I could on our journeys here, but I have not seen you our past few visits. I began to think that perhaps you had forgotten of me or… that your feelings had changed.” She can hear the sadness in his voice and she starts shaking her head before he’s even finished.

“I was so caught up trying to make my parents happy. They’re obsessed with me learning to be a good queen—by the time I found a moment to spare, you were gone. Nothing has changed, Killian.” He takes a moment to absorb her words and she thinks that perhaps he doesn’t believe her.

How could he not? Does he not comprehend the rush of happiness that she feels when she sees him? Does he not understand that he reigns over her thoughts no matter where she is? Has he not figured out that her world got better the day she met him?

She can’t read his expression, and she can feel the edges of agony threatening to crush her. In the seconds that drag by, his eyes scan over her face, and she has no idea what they could be searching for. Finally, he nods, resting his head against hers as he looks out at the sea, pulling her tighter against him as a breeze blows. Unsure of what had just transpired, she holds him tightly despite his suddenly stiffer posture and asks for a story. He hesitates, but then he begins to speak, his voice painting her a picture of a beautiful island with dark shadows and secrets.

She closes her eyes and tries to commit everything around her to memory—the smell of the sea and of him, his finger drawing patterns into her arm, his cheek resting against her forehead, the way he whispers his tale as if it is a secret meant only for her—she never wants to forget a single second.

About halfway through the story, he relaxes again, and the kiss he presses to her head is still just as sweet, but she can feel a different kind of sadness radiating from him as their time ticks away. Something deep inside of her knows that it is more than just unwillingness to say goodbye. When she asks about it, he brushes it off, and dread sinks low in her stomach.

When they go to part, they stand and he pulls her close, one arm tight around her waist and the other cupping her cheek. He kisses her with such fervor that she sees stars in her vision, and all she can do is cling to him until he lets her go. When her eyes meet his, his expression is somber and she has no idea why he’s acting this way, why all of a sudden his demeanor has changed so strongly.

She almost tells him then, almost crushes his mouth back to hers and confesses everything that she feels for him, her own fears be damned. Her throat is too tight, however, and by the time she’s cleared it enough to speak, he’s gone.


End file.
